


Isolation macht reizbar

by Cherrytreegirl



Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [5]
Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol Induced Amnesia, Hoffmann is still very dense, Internalized Homophobia, Isolation, M/M, Period-Typical Antisemitism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Still bad at tagging, WW2, also don't drink seawater, enemies to not enemies but very slow, he's also impatient because Tennstedt is a petty bitch, no beta we die like Sam Greenwood, too much sun is very dangerous, wear sunscreen kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrytreegirl/pseuds/Cherrytreegirl
Summary: What does one do on a small lifeboat in the middle of the ocean? Talk? Catch up? Not if you're Karl Tennstedt and Klaus Hoffmann.
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118996
Kudos: 7





	Isolation macht reizbar

**Author's Note:**

> Next part! Wohoo! Took me long enough, I know. I also took the liberty to just make up some shit about Hoffmann because why the fuck not. The little picture in (I think it was) a compass (?) he had, was of a woman, but since we (or at least I) have no idea who that is, I just decided it would be kinds sweet if it was his mom or sth. Yea.  
> Anyway, have fun!

The sad reality both of them had to face was, there was no plan, worse even, there wasn’t really any option for a plan either. Their only chance at survival depended on luck.

  
Pure luck.

  
Neither of them wanted to think too much about the fact that they were likely going to die out here, specifically that one of them was probably going to die first, leaving the other to deal with the rest of his pitifully short life alone. Hoffmann wasn’t sure he would say that he particularly liked Tennstedt, but being in the middle of the ocean, completely isolated, was arguably worse than spending time with the man. And as much as Tennstedt disliked him, he surely though the same. They would have to face their fate eventually, sooner rather than later, but for now, the best way to deal with it seemed to be pushing it as far back in their minds as possible.  
For the first few hours neither of them spoke, Tennstedt was obviously still working through the shock that the crew had turned not only against Hoffmann but also him, and Hoffmann was still slightly delirious, staring off into space, although his head had started to feel a lot less foggy, a sign that his body was finally getting over the sickness.

  
He was half aware his mind should really be putting him in a state of alarm about the fact that he was facing certain death, yet he couldn’t help feeling at peace. The repetitive up and down movement of their little boat as the waves rolled through was calming in a way, the lack of machine noises made him feel safe for some reason, obviously contradictory to their actual current situation, they had no protection from the elements and enemies whatsoever.  
When the sun reached its highest point in the bright blue sky, burning down on them mercilessly, Hoffmann broke their silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Tennstedt turned towards him and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’m sorry I promised you you’d get to meet my father and then immediately forgot about it. I can tell you’re disappointed about it, but I promise, when we get out of this,” He waved his arms around, motioning to their rubber boat, “When we get out of this, I’ll make it up to you.”

  
It really should have been an “if” and not a “when”, but he didn’t want to think about that too hard.

  
Tennstedt still stared at him, the explanation did not seem to have sufficed at clearing the man's confusion.

“I mean, it’s very nice of you, that you are suggesting to introduce me to your father, Kaleun. I admire him and would love to have a conversation, but you never promised that you would.”

  
“I didn’t?”

  
“You didn’t. We briefly spoke of him, it felt to me like you would rather talk about other things though, so I didn’t push further.” So, he hadn’t wept, or even complained, about his father to Tennstedt either, that certainly was a good thing to hear.

  
“What were you so disappointed about then?” Back to square one, Hoffmann really had not the slightest idea what could have happened, now. The thing with his father had been his best bet.

  
“I’m not disappointed!” Tennstedt snapped back, far too quickly in Hoffmann’s opinion. He seemed defensive all of a sudden, maybe even embarrassed. Like a flustered schoolgirl, he turned away, refusing to even look at Hoffmann.

“Alright,” the Kaleun raised his hands in Kapitulation, “you don’t want to talk about it.”

If Tennstedt wanted to play petty 12-year-old, he wasn’t going to stop him. The man only huffed in reply, so Hoffmann returned to his previous activity, staring out into the endless horizon hoping to spot any sign of salvation.

  
It all appeared surreal somehow, even though he could most definitely feel the breeze on his face, he could smell the salty air and he saw the sun as it dyed the sky bright orange, it still felt like a dream (or a nightmare, rather), like he was going to wake up any second now, like this wasn’t his body.  
Perhaps he had, very naïvely, thought that his father’s legacy would protect him from something like this. Even though he insisted his achievements were nothing but proof of his own hard work, Hoffmann really couldn’t deny that he was his father’s son and he had experienced privilege most other soldiers his age hadn’t. Yes, he had fought for his place in the world just like everyone else, but he had had the support of the great Hoffmann’s shadow looming over him. No sane man gave a 20-year-old command over 50 men and a few hundred tons of steel, heavily armed, except if that 20-year-old happened to be the son of a celebrated war hero.

  
People tended to forget that he was the great Hoffmann’s junior, not his younger Doppelgänger. He was just a normal soldier, like all the men he fought beside, with the exception that his last name was well known. He was young and inexperienced; he lacked the dominance and maturity that came with fighting for years. His downfall had been inevitable, really. It was true that people grew into their responsibilities under pressure, but sometimes it was too early to throw a duckling into deep water, all you would achieve is that it drowns.

  
His father (and Tennstedt for that matter) would surely disagree, saying that the only reason the duckling was drowning was because the duckling decided to let its fear of swimming overpower it, when in reality it hadn’t even hatched yet and there was no chance for it to start swimming in its eggshell. Not that Hoffmann was an unhatched duckling of course, but you get the drift.

  
He was more of a swan. (A goose, if you asked Tennstedt, but you really shouldn’t ask him, he’s mean.)

  
Why his mind had decided that right now was the best time to work through what he had suppressed for so long, he couldn’t say, really. Maybe it was because he deemed it important to come clean with himself in the eye of death, maybe he simply had no more excuse not to think about it, he wasn’t particularly busy right now. He could, of course, count the knots of his knitted jumper, or the stitches on the seams of his jacket, but that was hardly important work. Conversation was also not a viable distraction, his boat mate was still behaving like a petty little child and refused to speak with him. Whatever it was that had happened that night, Tennstedt wasn’t only secretive about it, for some reason he was also quite unhappy, perhaps even offended (just because Hoffmann had dared to say he appeared to be disappointed, rude really! How could he!). The Kaleun was still determined to find out, but since Tennstedt wasn’t telling him it could take a few more days before he finally remembered all of that evening.

Just how bad their situation was going to be, he realized the next morning when he woke up with a disgusting taste in his mouth and no toothpaste available to get rid of it. (Yes, dying is arguably worse than lack of dental hygiene, but Hoffmann was a rather cleanly person and to him, it was almost as bad.) And as if that wasn’t horrible enough, once he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Tennstedt leaning overboard into the water, ass into the air. (It wasn’t so much the ass that he found so awful, rather the idea that Tennstedt was drowning.) And so, his half-sleeping brain told him to do the only rational thing in that situation, get a hold of the drowning man and pull him back into the boat. The plan was a good one, the execution was rather clumsy though, as he yanked at whatever he could get between his fingers, it happened to be the hem of Tennstedt’s pants. He was quite successful at getting him out the water, but Hoffmann had been a little overexcited it appeared, they both tumbled backwards, Tennstedt landing on top of him rather painfully, knocking the wind out of him. (The man was muscular, yes, but he didn’t look nearly as heavy as he actually was.) The latter immediately made a move to get free from Hoffmann’s tight hold, delivering a most definitely not accidental blow to his stomach with the elbow, leaving him breathless for a second time. (Breathless, not because of being in a state of awe, but rather breathless as in, literally gasping for air. He didn’t find it very awe-inspiring to be punched in the gut.)

"What the fuck?!"

Tennstedt had apparently not been drowning at all, rather he had, similarly to Hoffmann, disliked the taste in his mouth (Tennstedt's own mouth, obviously) and decided to use seawater to rinse it out as not to waste any of their drinking water. The sudden attack from behind had, although nice in motive, not been necessary.  
Once they had disentangled themselves, Hoffmann returned to his side of their little boat, still breathing heavily (that punch to the stomach hurt like a motherfu-, no bad language! control yourself, young man). He felt Tennstedt's eyes on him the whole time, like a predator watching his prey, and for a moment he feared the man was going to push him into the ocean. It felt a bit overreactive, it really had only been a minor inconvenience, but perhaps Tennstedt was still angry about yesterday. Or he felt hurt in his pride because Hoffmann thought he needed saving.  
After his breathing had normalized again, Tennstedt was still staring at him like he was the devil incarnate, he spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I mean, you could continue being pissy, the whole until we're dead, or you could just tell me what bothers you so much, you know? Would probably be more comfortable for both of us."

"Just- Just stay on your side and we're good." And with that, the topic was done. The “Mimose” Hoffmann muttered under his breath went unnoticed by the other man.

Although Hoffmann really wasn't satisfied with that answer, he realized pushing wasn't the right approach, it wouldn't get him any further with the rather stubborn 1WO, the only way he was going to be getting any clarity was to wait.  
Instead, he decided to dig through the pockets of his jacket to see what else he could occupy himself with. It wasn’t much he had, a paperclip, a compass with his mother’s picture, a whole lot of lint, a pencil stub and a small notepad. The last two proved to be rather useful as an occupation, he decided to sketch something. Given that there weren’t particularly many motives around (lots of ocean around him, not all that interesting to draw) he decided on the only obvious thing to draw, probably one of the most drawn motives besides fruit. A person.  
Tennstedt still looked rather disgruntled, although not quite as mordlustig as before, nevertheless he hoped the man didn’t notice him repeatedly and continuously staring, he much preferred breathing air rather than water. (Tennstedt did, of course, notice the Kaleun’s staring, but he decided he wasn’t going to say anything about it.)  
In his childhood and teenage years this hobby, drawing, had never been encouraged much by his father, for it was too “feminine”. Why exactly it was, he never quite understood. Hadn’t the great artists of the world been mostly men? Raphael, Botticelli, Da Vinci? Even the Führer was an artist. Nevertheless, his father had insisted that no son of his was going to dwell in such a hobby, god forbid he wanted to become a professional artist, it simply wasn’t right for a proper young man like him, too girly and useless. A job for the talentless and the queers. (Another thing he never did understand, why was it so bad to be “queer”? When he heard it for the first time, another boy had said it to one of his friends, he didn’t even know what a “queer” was. That evening he asked his mother but she just told him to forget about it and never ask again. The only explanation he got from his father was: “They’re dirty people, son, dirty and evil.” “Just like the Jews, daddy?” (He didn’t think the Jews were bad, but everyone around him always said they were, so he believed them, he was only ten at the time, they obviously knew more than him) “No, worse really.” And that was all he got. Much later, he learned what a “queer” was, but exactly why it was so bad, he still didn’t know. Most people just said, “It’s disgusting” and “in the bible, it says it’s a sin.”, but Hoffman thought peas we’re disgusting and the bible said “You shall love thy neighbour”, yet no one really seemed to care enough about either of those, peas were still legal and everybody was always judging one another over the most trivial of things, like shoes or haircuts.) Either way, Hoffmann enjoyed drawing, even if his father didn’t support it, he kept drawing and drawing. Right now it proved to be quite useful too, otherwise, he’d probably die of boredom, he could hardly do something more “manly” here in the middle of the ocean like practice his fencing or something.

“Did you really shoot him in the face?”

Hoffmann looked up from his little notebook.

“Weissberger. Did you really shoot him in the face?”

“Yes.”

He could have left it at that, he owed no one an explanation for it, least of all Tennstedt, but it felt wrong not to explain.  
“He was suffering. The bullets of the Erschießungskommando got him pretty bad, but he wasn’t dead. I- I couldn’t watch it.” He half expected some dumb comment from Tennstedt about how soft and weak that was, but nothing of the like came.

“I’m glad”  
Well, that was unexpected. Hoffmann looked at his boatmate rather bewildered.  
The latter must have seen his confusion at the statement so he clarified:

“Otherwise, I’d have had to fear you were going to throw me off-board once our rations ran out.”

The tenseness that had been hanging over them all day vanished suddenly and both of them chuckled,

“Honestly, I thought you’d murder me first. You sure looked like you wanted to drown me this morning.” Hoffmann replied.

“I may have overreacted a bit. You scared me though, I thought I was being attacked.”

“I scared YOU? You looked like you were drowning! You gave me the shock of a lifetime!”

Perhaps it was the sun that was slowly turning their brains into melted puddles of goo, maybe the situation really was funny to them. Either way, their chuckles quickly turned into actual laughter, it felt almost familiar, the way they were both breathless and shaking, like little kids completely uncaring of their surroundings. Not even the dark clouds and booming thunder which soon filled the sky couldn’t dampen their mood. They were ecstatic, really, when the first rain set in, within minutes they were soaked to the bone but they didn’t mind and continued grinning from one ear to the other.  
Like Honigkuchenpferde.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see the drawing Hoffmann did (well I did it, but you know what I mean) here's the link to the Tumblr post:  
> https://dysfunctional-deity.tumblr.com/post/641864453076434944/isolation-macht-reizbar-cherrytreegirl-das


End file.
